


Where Did Our Love Go?

by finishusatoneblow



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Depression, Drinking, Feelings, M/M, Marriage, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, also sexy times, yep just sad angsty husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finishusatoneblow/pseuds/finishusatoneblow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are married. And in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why are you always like this?! Goddamn--” Enjolras was riding Grantaire roughly on their bed, sheets tangled and strewn across the floor next to Enjolras’ cracked phone.

“Shut _up!_ Shut _the fuck_ up I… swear… to _god_ ” Grantaire, heaving with effort, wrapped his legs around Enjolras’ hips, tilting them over and rolling on top of him, taking on a punishing pace as he glared at Enjolras, who was red with anger and lust below him.

Enjolras bit at his clavicle viciously.

“Jesus _Christ”_

“You sure do a lot of… appealing to deities, for someone who… oh my _god_ … doesn’t--”

“Do you ever shut _the fuck_ up? Christ.”

“Make me”

It took all of Grantaire’s self control not to slap him, but instead throw Enjolras’ legs over his shoulders, getting a deeper angle, to torture him, make him whine, make him shut that disgustingly perfect mouth.

“Ohhh my god, _Grantaire_ ”

Grantaire only thrust harder, faster, not caring about his own impending release, just caring about making Enjolras feel _something_ , feel needy, a little bit broken. Enjolras bit his neck, sucking _hard_ , moaning into the skin, damaging him, like always, taking more than Grantaire had to give.

Grantaire bottomed out, and a moment later felt Enjolras clench around him with an “ _Ahhhh_ ” He frantically snapped his hips forward and up, unrelenting for another minute before coming.

As soon as it was finished, he shoved Enjolras’ legs from his shoulders, not looking at his face, and stalked to the bathroom to clean Enjolras’ cum off his torso. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that he was shaking.

He quickly wiped himself off with a towel, splashed his face with cold water, and walked back into the bedroom, only pretending to have calmed down.

Grantaire found Enjolras sprawled across the bed in the same position he had left him, his legs looking a little bit broken where Grantaire had tossed them from his shoulders. He was snoozing quietly.

“You have got to be KIDDING ME! I can’t get 45 seconds of attention from you outside of sex?!”

Enjolras moaned a little, waking. 

“Grantaire,” he whined, “I haven’t slept in 36 hours.”

“Congratulations, you want a medal of valor? The sacrifice of your beauty sleep for a totally inconsequential impact on mankind?”

Enjolras sat up, shooting daggers at Grantaire even through clouded eyes.

“You are constantly undermining my life. And what did _you_ do while I was away? Probably felt so sorry for yourself that you couldn’t make half an effort to reach out and fucking _do something_ about it. Jesus, since this relapse…”

Grantaire surged forward to yank the pillow from behind Enjolras and grabbed a bedraggled sheet off the floor, twisting it around his wrist. He stalked out of the room without a word, heading for the couch.

“Grantaire! What are you doing?” Silence. “Well thanks, thanks for a fantastic ‘Welcome Home’!”

 

Grantaire awoke to the sun shining in his face and a pulsing in his head. He was on the couch, face in the upholstery, joints aching. He rubbed a hand over his face and turned to the kitchen. The clock read 12:20. Enjolras, stirring a cup of coffee, shot him a disapproving but resigned look from the counter. He gestured to the cup, setting it on the countertop a good 12 inches from himself. Neutral territory.

Grantaire rolled over on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut against the light of day. But resistance was futile. He couldn’t fall back asleep with Enjolras’ eyes on him. He stumbled to his feet, stretching half-heartedly before shuffling to the counter.

“I know how hard you’ve been trying,” Enjolras said, looking down at his fingers.

“Enjolras, let’s not—”

Enjolras held up a hand. “Please. _Please._ ” A pause. “I know how hard you’ve been trying. I know how long you’ve been trying. And I shouldn’t have undermined all your efforts at sobriety. I’m just…”

“Disappointed,” Grantaire finished.

Enjolras’ eyes grew wide. “ _No._ I just… I get so frustrated. That it isn’t working. And that I feel like I have to be here every minute to hold your hand.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Don’t worry, you’re in no danger of that.”

“Grantaire, my work is who I am, I can’t give that up. I can’t put everything on hold because you can’t get it together.”

“You think I asked for this? You think I’m not trying?!”

Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, pressing his palm to his temple. This conversation was going in circles.

“I _know_ you’re trying. But this isn’t how I want it to be, the depression and the drinking. I’ve tried to help but I can’t fix it and I can’t always be here but… I have no life without you. You’re my life.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Grantaire growled. “It’s all talk. All you do is talk. From the moment you said, ‘I do,’ it was only words,” He had grown solemn. He was angry, he knew, but it was true. And if life has taught him anything so far, it’s that words mean nothing.

Enjolras’ face went blank. Grantaire had just wanted Enjolras to _feel_ him for once, and right now that meant hurting him _._

Enjolras looked away, biting his lip. If Grantaire didn’t know better, he’d say it was as if he were trying to hold back tears. And if Grantaire _had_ known better, he’d have known that’s just what Enjolras was doing.

 “I think we’re in trouble,” Enjolras said, closing his eyes as if trying to will Grantaire’s words away.

“Hah. Very discerning, really.”

“I’m serious. We’re in trouble.”

Grantaire turned away, walking back to the bedroom. 

“Give me five minutes in here alone.”

When Grantaire emerged, dressed, he didn’t speak, but headed straight for the door. It clicked shut behind him before Enjolras noticed he was leaving.

 

“He broke my phone,” Enjolras lamented to Combeferre over another cup of coffee that afternoon at the café. He couldn’t stay in the apartment, even after a week away. He had called Combeferre from a payphone on their block less than half an hour after Grantaire’s departure, his thoughts already too loud in his own head, with the smell of Grantaire everywhere.

“You didn’t call the whole trip.”

“ _He_ didn’t call, either.”

“Enjolras.”

They both knew Grantaire well enough to know that in his current slump, he would reach out to no one, especially not Enjolras. This final caveat hit both men with its fundamental defectiveness. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Enjolras admitted weakly. “He’s my husband, but he’s more of a mystery to me now than ever. He’s constantly pulling away and I don’t have the time, let alone the energy, to be pulling him back from the edge every damn week.”

Combeferre nodded passively, an encouragement to continue.

“I love him, you know I do. _He_ knows I do.” _Does he?_ Enjolras thought. Grantaire’s words from that day were buzzing in Enjolras’ head: _“From the moment you said ‘I do’…” Could he really believe that?_

“Anyway, I’m constantly reaffirming it, but it’s exhausting.” _And I don’t know what else to do_. “It just… isn’t working,” he sighed.

“You aren’t one to throw in the towel so early, my friend.”

“’Ferre, you know how much our work means to me. I can’t give that up for him. I couldn’t for anyone.”

“You are married now. You couldn’t bend a little?”

“I- I don’t think I know how.”

Combeferre chuckled a little.

Enjolras only looked desperate. “I can’t lose him. After all the effort, after all the struggle.”

“Is that all your marriage means to you?”

“No, but that’s all it seems to be these days: a struggle. More like a war. He’s relapsed, he’s depressed, he won’t communicate with me. I have no idea what goes on in his head. I feel… blind. It’s not working,” he repeated, fixing Combeferre with an earnest gaze. “ _Why isn’t it working?_ ”

Combeferre bit his lip slightly. “Maybe you need help.”

“He already sees someone,” Enjolras dismissed, with a wave of his hand.

“No. Both of you. Together.” Combeferre fixed Enjolras dead in the eye.

“No.”  Enjolras broke eye contact and stared down at the table, suddenly shy. “I’m not talking to some stranger with a fake doctorate about my problems. Not when I can’t even talk about them with my husband.”

“But isn’t that the problem? Look, if you don’t want to lose him, _you_ have to try too. And if you don’t know how, you’d better learn.”

 

“I think we should go to counseling.” Enjolras said over a silent microwaved dinner. “I called your therapist; she recommended someone.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“This wasn’t part of the Enjolras-endorsed therapy package deal,” Grantaire grumbled drily.

“I didn’t think that’s what your therapy was about.”

“That’s always what it’s been about.”

Ghosts arose from Enjolras’ memory, shadows that looked vaguely like himself and Grantaire, lying easily beside one another in bed.

...

_“Think of what you could do if you quit. Think of what you’re wasting,” Enjolras smiled gently._

_“Hah, not much… I’ve heard ‘you could do more’…” Grantaire grew somber. “But what if I can’t?”_

_“If you won’t do it for you, will you do it for me?”_

…

The tense silence brought Enjolras back to the present.

“Will you just do it?”

A long pause. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Levett recommended him. She seemed to think it was a good idea… It sounded like she tried to bring it up to you before.” _She also said you haven’t been in in 3 weeks._

Grantaire only grunted in acknowledgement.

“Please. _Please._ ”

At that, Grantaire could only sigh, granting an infinitesimal nod.   

 

Enjolras made an appointment for the following Wednesday morning. He would have to go in late to work that day, but surely they would set up a different regular time, perhaps in the evening.

“Hey, let’s go,” he shouted into the apartment from the doorway.

Grantaire appeared, the ghost of a smirk flitting over his features as he said, “At your service.”

Enjolras tried to take his hand. Grantaire winced away, grabbing his opposite arm to avoid Enjolras’ outstretched hand. He hadn’t touched Enjolras since the night Enjolras had come home and they’d had sex. Their touches hadn’t been loving in even longer.

“Okay, come on, then.” Enjolras said shortly. They walked out the door.

The office was only a short walk away, maybe fifteen minutes. It felt much longer in the silence, with so much space between them, even though they were walking side by side. The air was cold, and Grantaire had to admit that Enjolras’ hand in his would have helped. But he was determined not to let him get any closer than necessary at the moment. 

_This is your_ husband _. God, what’s wrong with you?_ He thought sourly.

 

They sat next to each other in the waiting room, not saying a word. When they were called in, Enjolras tried to place a guiding hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire shrugged it off, not meeting his husband’s eyes. They walked into the office, faced with a cheery-looking man with slight wrinkles and bright eyes who was rising from behind a desk, moving forward to meet them.

“Dr. Charles Girard,” he said, extending a hand, which Enjolras shook, impressed by the doctor’s grip. He offered it to Grantaire who, nodding, took it cautiously.

“Please, sit,”  Girard said as he gestured to small leather couch, which would leave little room between them. Grantaire looked around the room for other chairs. There were none.

The doctor dragged the only chair from behind his desk to face them, plopping into it himself. “So. How long have you two been together?” he began.

Enjolras answered, “Two years.”

“And how long have you been married?”

“Seven months.”

“Well they say the first year is the hardest,” the doctor smiled kindly at Grantaire, who sat sullenly at Enjolras’ side, saying nothing.

“Let’s get to it, then. I understand from Dr. Levett that you’re on Zoloft and you’re a recovering alcoholic,” he inquired of Grantaire.

“Not anymore, I’ve relapsed,” Grantaire spat.

“Then you aren’t taking the Zoloft anymore?”

“Obviously.”

“Is your relapse a source of tension in your relationship?” Girard asked, eyes moving between the pair of them.

“Yes,” said Enjolras.

“Grantaire?”

He shrugged.

“Do you talk about it?”

Silence.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was resolutely looking at his fingers. Grantaire turned away, scoffing, and Enjolras’ head shot up to look wistfully at the back of his husband’s head.

Enjolras cleared his throat.

"You don’t, then. Do you disagree often?"

"Constantly,” Enjolras sighed.

"We fight probably every week." Grantaire interrupted. It seemed he lived to undermine Enjolras. Enjolras clenched his teeth, holding back a retort.

Girard ignored them. “It's good to express yourselves, let your emotions out and not keep them bottled up."

"I'd hardly call it expressing ourselves,” Enjolras let slip before he could stop himself.

"What would you call it?"

"Pointless screaming."

"What do you argue about?"

"His drinking. His depression. His absolutely unwillingness to communicate"

"Grantaire?"

"I don't know. Stupid stuff… But somehow it always gets ugly.”

The questioning went on for the remainder of the hour, answered by vague accusations and punctuated by petty disputes over semantics.

Near the end of the session, Dr. Girard concluded, “If you feel comfortable, I’d like you to turn to each other, and say one thing you want the other to know and take with him after we finish here.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Enjolras faced Grantaire, a pleading look in his eyes. “Please,” he whispered, almost too quietly for the doctor to overhear. Grantaire obliged, finally looking at Enjolras’ face with empty, vacuous eyes.

Grantaire spoke first, nearly babbling with the urgency to get it over with,“I really don’t know why you brought me here, unless you’re thinking I’m going to leave you. So I guess you should know that I have no plans to leave you. Uh- ever.” He ran a hand through his hair, shying away from Enjolras’ eyes.

Enjolras’ eyes shone as he muttered, “Me too.”

After a pause: “I want you to know that I love you,” then even more quietly, “and I wish you would touch me.”

Girard let silence rest over the room for a moment, before saying, “Good. I’d like to see you both next Wednesday, at the same time, if that’s possible?

Enjolras panicked, “Acutally, I--”

“Good,” the doctor said again cheerily, ushering them off the couch and out the door. “See you chaps next week!”

The door slammed shut. _Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts and depression!

“Grantaire?” Enjolras was knocking on the door to Grantaire’s make-shift studio (though it was more frequently used as his hideaway) the evening of their first appointment, having just returned from the half-day’s work. He was later than usual, but he had had to make up for lost time. There was no way he could miss a morning every week. He could call Dr. Girard in the morning and straighten it out.

“Would you like some dinner?” He called, trying to be patient. It had been hard at work that day, lying about where he’d been all morning.

“I’ll be fine,” was the muffled reply.

“Please?”

“You’re always saying that.” Grantaire banged open the door, standing formidably in front of Enjolras. “You’re always asking so much of me… _Too_ much. Give me one thing.” He laid a hand on Enjolras’ hip- the first tender touch they had exchanged in weeks. Grantaire’s eyes flashed, a smoky light sparking beneath the now-typical clouds of self-doubt and alcohol. “You said you wanted me to touch you… I’ve been thinking about it while you were gone.” He rolled his hand in a circle over Enjolras’ hip, fingers stretching toward the inside of his thigh.

“You know that’s not what I meant...” Enjolras murmured, voice full of hurt, not anger.

“I’m tired of being pissed at you,” Grantaire pouted.

“Sex is not going to fix being pissed at each other.”

“Can’t we pretend?” Grantaire whispered deviously. At Grantaire’s words, Enjolras’ mind flooded with memories.

 _The beginning of their relationship, falling into bed among crisp, pristine sheets, laughing, tangled together, breath mingling, eyes shining like new as they rolled through all the time they had wasted_ not _doing this. Months later, lying on the floor in the aftermath, not sure where one’s body ended and the other’s began, too hot, sweaty and slick from their fulfillment but unwilling to let go, uncaring about the hard floor pressing against their backs. Their wedding night, slow kisses melting with love into pure passion that seemed to go on and_ _on, ringed fingers knocking as their hands laced, squeezing tight as they each came, one after the other._

“Please.” The word sounded strange coming from Grantaire’s lips. He so rarely asked for anything.

“Okay,” Enjolras said. He was powerless. After denying himself in every other way, once they had begun their relationship, he found it only too easy to indulge in physical intimacy with Grantaire. He realized with an unpleasant jolt to the gut that this was the only thing he could give Grantaire now.

Grantaire rushed to grab Enjolras’ hips to his, pulling him down the rabbit hole with him. They did not kiss. Grantaire shut the door behind him, releasing Enjolras’ hips and pushing past him to lead them into the bedroom. There would be no invading Grantaire’s sanctuary, Enjolras knew, just as there was no breaching his inner thoughts.

They had made love in his little studio once, months ago, when the apartment was new and truly _theirs_ for the first time. But that seemed like a very long time ago, now.

Grantaire practically bounced over to the nightstand, fetching lube and condoms. Enjolras couldn’t remember when they’d gone back to using condoms, but he supposed it was somewhere between the time of tender kisses and pressed hands and where they were now. It didn’t make any sense. They might be broken, but Enjolras knew that Grantaire _couldn’t_ cheat on him, and he certainly wasn’t having an affair. He supposed it had more to do with the intimacy that came with unprotected sex. There had been no barriers between them when they were first married. Now, they wanted to re-erect barriers… Grantaire wanted to.

“How do you want to do this?” Enjolras asked, once he was on the bed.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Grantaire said assuredly.

Enjolras undid his pants, wriggling out of his clothes as quickly as possible, shivering slightly as the cold air wafted over his skin. Another second later, Enjolras, face turned towards the mattress, felt the bed shift beneath him as Grantaire settled behind him, still fully clothed as far as Enjolras knew. It shouldn’t have made him feel so vulnerable, but it did.

“Grantaire, what…”

“Do you still want to do this?” Grantaire asked firmly.

“Yes.” And after a moment, “I always want to be close to you,” Enjolras murmured.

“Mm,” Grantaire hummed evasively. Even so, Enjolras thought he could hear the grinding of Grantaire’s teeth. What he heard next was distinct: the cap of the tube of lube flicked open. Grantaire laid a warm hand on his back, then pressed a slick finger in. Enjolras tensed involuntarily. “Jeeesus, you need to relax,” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and tried to release the tension in his body. But Grantaire pressed only a little farther before finding resistance again. “You need to _calm down_.”

“I’m trying! It’s been a stressful day, alright?” Enjolras hissed, whipping his head over his shoulder to look at Grantaire. “I actually had to do something besides sit around all day,” he mumbled bitterly. He knew it was rude, but he was stressed and annoyed and never one to keep that to himself.

Grantaire’s face set into a hard glare. “ _So_ fucking busy, _so_ stressed. That’s all that matters. What you do and what I don’t and you making me feel like shit for it. Thanks.”

“I thought you didn’t want to argue! Let’s just do this,” Enjolras huffed.

“We could if you’d—ugh” Grantaire just scoffed in frustration, withdrew his finger, and pushed Enjolras onto his front, squirting more lube into his palm and stroking Enjolras’ dick, obviously trying to relieve some tension. His grip was concentrated, firm, and fast, and excited Enjolras’ arousal, leaving him a little breathless. The sensation warmed Enjolras deep inside, and he felt muscles he didn’t even know he was clenching release slowly.

“Okay,” Enjolras breathed. “I think I’m ready.” Grantaire kept one hand on Enjolras’ dick, his thumb stroking the underside, while he pressed his finger inside once more.

“Finally,” Grantaire grumbled as his finger slid in easily. He circled it around before adding another, spreading them and pushing both deeper. Enjolras started moaning in earnest now. If he hadn’t been in the mood before, he certainly was now.

“Feeling a little less put upon, are you?” Grantaire chided.

“Don’t be a dick, just do it,” Enjolras snarled. His patience was waning, and though he was more relaxed physically, he was still on edge.

“Shhh, just one more first,” Grantaire chuckled with a smirk, as he crooked the two fingers inside Enjolras, eliciting several sputtered expletives from the blonde. He then plunged in three thick fingers at once, simulating what he was about to do with short, rough thrusts, bending his fingers in a beckoning motion _forwards_ before sliding them completely out. Enjolras shivered at the withdrawal, back still arched and mouth still agape from the stimulation of his prostate. “Grantaire!” He whined.

Grantaire ran his eyes over Enjolras’ body before commanding, “Turn over.” Enjolras’ limbs were already shaky, but he flipped over and got on his hands and knees, reverting his body to its previous position. He whimpered a little at the thought of his hard cock being unable to find friction even against the bed. He heard Grantaire unzip his jeans and listened for sounds of him discarding his clothing, but heard none. Only the ripping of a condom wrapper before he felt the head of Grantaire’s dick graze him as he lined up, and then breech him as Grantaire’s hips snapped forward ruthlessly.

“Yes, yes,” Grantaire was panting within seconds, his pace fast and reckless. The vigorous rocking finally made Enjolras’ tired arms give way, so that he was lying on the mattress, ass in the air, face planted in the sheets, reveling at the change in angle now that Grantaire was getting deeper. He felt so full, but he couldn’t _feel_ Grantaire, only the artificial smoothness of the lubricated condom and a throbbing warmth that told him it was in fact Grantaire. He knew it was only a thin piece of latex, but he felt the distance.

Grantaire interrupted Enjolras’ thoughts, getting very loud indeed as he continued to pound in over and over. “Is this what you wanted?” he demanded, breathing hard between phrases. “You wanted me to touch you? You wanted me to fuck you?” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hips roughly, bringing them up to meet his thrusts completely.

Enjolras nodded, biting his lip slightly. He definitely couldn’t say he didn’t want Grantaire fucking him at this moment, emotional baggage aside, as Grantaire hit his prostate once and _God it felt so good._

“Beg me for it, I want you _pleading_ , come on,” Grantaire growled, his voice full of lust.

“Please, Grantaire, please,” Enjolras obeyed, truly desperate for orgasm. “Anything, keep touching me, keep fucking me, make me come…”

Grantaire moaned, gripped Enjolras’ hips even tighter, and angled them upwards so he could thrust deeper and deeper, hitting his prostate just often enough, never relenting in his pace. “Yes, ask for it, _yes_ ,” Grantaire hissed.

“Please, please, please,” Enjolras chanted, out of breath.

Grantaire thrust forward with great force and then came, his cock shooting forward, releasing into the condom. He pulled out and dropped Enjolras’ hips, leaving Enjolras to fall forward and thrust into the bed wantonly, still pleading, “ _Please, please, please_ ,” desperate and breathy. Next thing Enjolras knew, Grantaire was squeezing his arm between Enjolras and the bed, to take Enjolras in hand and stroke him to orgasm. One last twist of the wrist over Enjolras’ leaking head, and Enjolras came, yelling.

Enjolras allowed himself a moment of reprieve to catch his breath against the mattress, then slowly came back to himself. They weren’t touching anymore. Enjolras knew he couldn’t succumb to the exhaustion of his body, and after a moment, pushed himself up, grabbed a discarded towel off the floor and wiped himself off. He dabbed at the unfortunate spot on the bed against which he had come and mumbled “sorry,” in what he hoped was the direction of Grantaire.

Grantaire only hummed noncommittally from where he laid on the other side of the bed, just returned from throwing out his condom, arms folded as he compressed into himself.

 “You can have the bed tonight,” Enjolras said, rolling over. He stretched, grabbed his shirt and boxers from the floor, and made for the door. “You need it.” With that he left into the cold living room to collapse into the couch.

\------------------------ 

When Grantaire awoke it took him a moment to come to his senses. He could see the harsh, bright light of day leaking into the bedroom from the gap underneath the closed blinds, and he knew it must be midday, and that Enjolras would not be at home. Enjolras. He remembered the night before, how desperate he’d been and yet how cold. It wasn’t just Enjolras who was confused by Grantaire’s behavior. Grantaire confused himself.

He didn’t want to fight with Enjolras; he did want to fight with Enjolras. He wanted Enjolras to be close to him; he wanted to push him away. He wanted to make Enjolras hate him, but he wanted Enjolras to love him. It was just like the beginning of their relationship. Only now Enjolras was bound by his own fucked-up idealistic conception that marriage meant something, and would never leave Grantaire in peace too stew in his own self-loathing. Grantaire knew Enjolras was trapped, that he was miserable. _Good,_ Grantaire thought viciously, _that’ll make two of us._ He rolled over in bed with a huff before he realized that he was acting cross with no one but himself, alone in the bed.

He should get up. Make some breakfast (lunch now?), at the very least check his emails or take a shower or _move_ or any of the things his therapist used to applaud him for. Until he stopped going. Until he relapsed and had to stop taking Zoloft or else his head would explode or some other supposedly horrific thing that happened when you mixed medications with alcohol. Until he was too ashamed to go and now couldn’t muster the strength even if he wanted due to the crushing weight of depression.

He could ignore the Surgeon General, or whomever it was that warned against heads exploding, and munch the pills like candy, wash them down with whiskey, or something stronger. End it. Free them both. Enjolras had given up on throwing out the alcohol. It was a waste of money. What’s mine is yours and all that, which really meant that what was Grantaire’s was really Enjolras’. And Enjolras was not one to waste.

But today was not the day. Grantaire didn’t think he’d even have the energy to get out of bed. Even with the smell of Enjolras filling his nostrils, reminding him of the reprimand that would meet him some time around 6:30, when Enjolras would come home to find him unmoved, would sigh, would inevitably be overworked and cross, and would remind Grantaire what a lazy shit he was.

And he was. Enjolras wasn’t wrong about that. Grantaire only wished Enjolras would stop insisting he loved Grantaire anymore, or that their relationship meant anything. He felt a hundred years old, like their marriage had been to hell and back and straight to hell again, and they’d only been married, what, seven months? _Trust yourself to screw it up in under a year,_ Grantaire thought to himself. _Trust yourself to ruin his life too._

Grantaire was getting worked up, flailing around in the sheets, trying to find someplace cool and clean to lie down so he could just _sleep_ again. Sleep and forget. But there was nowhere that didn’t smell of Enjolras, and as he became more and more entwined in the bedding, the heat and the smell made his stomach turn. He tried to steady his breathing, but to no avail.

He would have to get up or he’d vomit all over himself like a drunken tramp in an alley. He may have been a drunk, but he was a drunk with access to a very nice apartment and he’d rather not literally stew in the stench of his own failure.

Once he was bent over the toilet bowl, breathing hard, having expelled what little he had in his system, he realized he was shaking again. He needed a drink. He was already up. He pushed himself to a standing position with his elbows on the toilet bowl. He flushed it, and headed for the kitchen, not bothering to rinse out his mouth first. He grabbed the first bottle he could lay a hand on and slunk back to the darkened bedroom, cradling it to his chest as he curled beneath the covers once more. He sat up enough to take a sip. Vodka. Not his favorite, but it would do the job. He drank a few more mouthfuls before he stopped trembling enough to set the bottle down and roll onto his back once more. He let the sharp warmth fill his chest, spreading out and settling over his body like a leaden blanket. It comforted him, heavy and warm. It overpowered him, too heavy to lift. Grantaire sipped intermittently from the bottle until his eyes slid shut, and he finally slipped into sleep once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the amazing Kiwiberry / avengingiswhatidobest on tumblr
> 
> Also, I tried to make it pretty clear that Enjolras is okay with the sexy times at the beginning of this chapter, but if you think it's dubcon leave a comment and I'll tag it for triggering purposes.  
> I felt like we were getting a little too much "poor Enjolras" so hoorah R pov!  
> But don't worry, I'm not going to kill Grantaire.
> 
> Mwah! Happy reading


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written since December, but I had more scenes that I wanted to add to the chapter. I don't know if I'll have the time or inclination to write them in the future, or finish this, but I thought I'd give you what I have (especially since I'm publishing something new later today). Enjoy!

Grantaire awoke to the familiar pounding in his head. _Thud, thud, thud,_ his brain hammered against the thick cage of his skull, the dull sound getting louder and louder, until _shit._ Grantaire realized someone was knocking on the door. They could piss off. There was no way he’d be able to get up even if he wanted to. Sometimes there just seemed to be a disconnect between his body and his brain. He could want to move with all his might and yet some invisible tether kept him trapped, knowing it was impossible. Frozen. Useless.

Grantaire heard the scrape of a key in the lock and a click of the dead bolt. He was barely able to process confusion before he saw a windblown Combeferre step across the threshold before he tossed a bag on the coffee table and turned toward the bedroom door, still open from Grantaire’s earlier alcohol-motivated meanderings.

He promptly rolled over and pretended to be asleep.

He heard tentative footsteps get closer and closer before a creak alerted him to Combeferre sitting on the side of the bed. He felt fingers brush back his hair gently, something he hadn’t felt since the early days, when Enjolras was still trying to fix him.

“I know you’re awake, Grantaire,” Combeferre murmured. Grantaire didn’t react, but the fingers kept combing gently across his scalp. Though he felt emotionally numb he really did cherish the warmth of his friend’s touch. It required no promises, and it asked nothing in return. It was simply a comfort.

After a few minutes of silence, Combeferre whispered, “He hasn’t given up on you, you know. He just doesn’t know what to do.”

Grantaire continued to stare at the wall.

“The problem is he can’t do this for you,” Combeferre muttered, like he was thinking aloud, his tone not accusatory, but contemplative. “For all his faith and passion... it isn’t worth a thing if you can’t find something in you to keep going. And not _him_.” Combeferre settled a little more into the bed, leaning towards Grantaire. “You have to do it for you, R.” He cleared his throat and pulled away, straightening a little. “But right now,” he continued in a stronger voice, “it looks like you could use a hand. Come on, up you get.” Combeferre wedged his hand beneath Grantaire’s shoulder and pulled him up to a sitting position. Grantaire finally turned his head to address the man, expression vacant, eyes glassy. He tried to express modicum of thankfulness through the haze of melancholy, unable to make even the corners of his mouth twitch up in recognition. But when Combeferre offered an outstretched hand, Grantaire knew that he understood.

 

Enjolras was not in a good mood. Then again, when was he these days? His back ached from sleeping on the couch, and he felt hollow from the night before.

He had downed a cup of coffee and shuffled his way to the firm, where a stack of work a mile high awaited him.

He answered the most urgent of his emails, reported to his boss, and grabbed another cup of coffee before settling at his desk to make the call he had been dreading.

“Hi, yes, I’d like to cancel an appointment for next Wednesday morning, 9 AM?” Enjolras spoke urgently and quietly to the receptionist across the line.

“I’m sorry, but all cancellations must be processed through Dr. Girard directly. Would you please hold?”

“I-” Enjolras sputtered before the not-so-soothing sounds of Kenny G crackled in his ear. Barely two minutes passed before Girard’s light and easy voice met his ear. “Good morning, M. Enjolras, what seems to be the problem?”

“Good morning, Doctor. I’m afraid we set an appointment time a bit hastily the other day,” he tried to sound professional. It was disconcerting speaking with this man who already knew such intimate details about his personal life. “I’m not going to be able to make it next Wednesday morning. In fact, it’s rather a bad time every week.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” He didn’t sound particularly repentant to Enjolras. “Unfortunately, we’re very busy at the moment; we’re nearly booked solid, so 9 on Wednesday is your best bet.”

“You don’t understand,” Enjolras gritted, quickly growing irritated. “I have a very demanding career. I cannot miss a morning every week!”

“Oh, I think I do understand, Enjolras,” he replied, still sounding entirely too pleasant. “I don’t know you very well, but I think you’ll find Wednesday morning to be, in fact, the _best_ time for your appointments.”

“But—”

“Look, you sought my help for a reason, M. Enjolras.” Girard suddenly sounded serious. He spoke lowly, “You can find someone else who will gladly take you on Saturday afternoon and let you pretend to prioritize your relationship while your ‘real life’ stays the same. But you’re not going to do that. You know I’m the best damned couples’ therapist in the city, and if you really want to turn your marriage around, you and your spouse will be in my office on Wednesday at 9 AM.”

Enjolras’ jaw had physically dropped.

“See you then!” Girard chirped, back to his usual airy speech.

“WAIT!” Enjolras shouted. But the receiver had already clicked. Why did everyone at this office insist on cutting him off?

He put his head in his hands. He could feel his coworkers’ eyes on him, peering around the corners and the thresholds of their offices, coffee cups clutched like camouflage in front of their faces. He had been rather loud.

He sighed, lifted his head up, and dialed the number of next Wednesday morning’s consultation.

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-based on a prompt from the kink meme "E/R in marriage counseling with Javert as the counselor"  
> But I obviously passed on counselor!Javert. I had no idea how to write that in a serious way so here we are.  
> Hope you enjoy somewhat!  
> Beta'd by Kiwiberry / avengingiswhatidobest on tumblr.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr ](http://redevenait-quelquun.tumblr.com) as well-- come say hey


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